Snapshots of Nite
by arosynose
Summary: Brief windows into the life of Nite Owl, and his relationship with Rorschach.  Now with more drabbles.
1. Chapter 1

1. Mary's Magic

At first, it's magic.

Running through the streets, sailing through the air, delivering justice to those who are deserving of punishment. A birdlike knight in shining armor, swift and avenging like a stroke of lightning.

Slowly, he is disillusioned. One too many missed punches, one too many taken to his face, one too many repairs to his suit, one too many cracks in the lenses of his goggles. The escapades lose their ethereal quality, are suddenly all too real and he isn't sure how to deal with it. He trudges on, but it's not the same.

Then, he appears.

Not a knight, or a prince. No, he was more of a beggar-turned-anonymous benefactor, with a shapeless face of black and white. Short, yet towering over everyone.

He sees magic again in the way the vigilante moves, coiled and viscous and leonine and ruthless and somehow, beneath and within every movement, a strange, wild beauty. Magic.

* * *

2. Friend or Foe

He's never quite sure what to make of him.

Rorschach is fiercely, unpredictable, a man of more broken fingers than words. He's afraid of him, at first, scared for his life when he says something that sets the shorter man off, like a tightly coiled spring.

Slowly, after a fiercely fought skirmish in an alleyway and a drug chain brought to its knees by the pair, he stops thinking of himself as an accessory to the ruthless vigilante and sees himself as a partner to the other man, a companion to rely on in battle.

He begins to understand the little nods and tilts of the head, the rough grunts and squaring of the shoulders.

Then, Rorschach goes off on one mission alone, and comes back different. More blood and death than he had ever been. He hopes they can get past this, and they almost do. But there's always something missing afterwards, and it's not just words.

When masks are banned, he finally gives in. Their bond has been taxed, and he's tired of being the one to pick up the pieces, to reign Rorschach like a rabid dog on a leash. He thinks if he keeps going, he'll break down instead of break apart like Rorschach did, and in a way it would be worse.

So he hangs up his cape and wishes the others well as they continue their crusade. He wonders when it all became so hopeless.

* * *

3. The Stone Table

He feels tired, as he walks out into the snow with Laurie. Dr. Manhattan has already told them that he's fixed the ship, and they're ready to leave, to get away from Veidt and the destruction and wall of screens that all say the same thing. Peace.

Daniel had assumed that Rorschach had gotten back to New York. Maybe he had convinced Manhattan to teleport him there. Maybe he had swam across the ocean, or ridden on a whale. Any of them seemed possible at the moment.

Whatever Dan had been expecting, it was not a splatter of blood, almost completely covered in a fresh layer of snow. It's a stain on the perfectly white landscape, and his eyes are drawn to it.

When he realizes what it is, what it means, he freezes in place, eyes locked to the remnants of a man who'd once been his partner.

He isn't sure what to do. Going back to New York himself seems so silly now. Go home, and keep quiet like a good little boy.

Not like Rorschach, who gave up his life to stay true to his principles. Daniel wishes, wishes and hopes and _wants_ with all his being to be like that, to be sure and confident. Vindictive.

He's alive, and his partner is dead, and he's not sure if he can live with that.

* * *

4. Alice in Wonderland

They've just stumbled into a warehouse, trying to find someplace to sit and bandage themselves, or they won't get back to the Nest alive.

Daniel is too light-headed, dizzy and disoriented and he falters, tripping on his own foot onto what feels like a pillow.

Rorschach growls, and Daniel giggles because, well, Rorschach _growled_. Growled! He's laughing hysterically and some small part of him says this shouldn't be so funny, but it is, just _is_, and he can't imagine why but can't summon up the will to care.

Everything is just so _bright_ now, vivid and painted with the colors of a thousand rainbows and sparkling lights and when he looks back at his partner's face, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, he sees a kaleidoscope of images and a clown here and a pony there and it eventually dawns on him that he's telling his partner all of this. And that's just so _f__unny_!

He's laughing again, and his partner's not, is trying to get him to sit up, and he can't imagine why. It seems so _unimportant_, sitting up.

He tries to convince Rorschach to join him on the pillows, because it's comfortable and soft and smells so good, but his partner keeps growling, and shaking his head and saying words that seem to run together, and Daniel can't stop laughing.

* * *

5. Complicated

Rorschach is frustrating.

There's no way around it; when the shorter vigilante refuses to speak in anything other than growls and grunts and one-word, maybe two-word, sentences, Daniel wants to throw down his hood and stomp on it like a petulant child. For all his patience, spending long sleepless nights with a man who smells like a sugary, greasy sewer and refuses to use pronouns just isn't something Daniel can do on a regular basis without letting some steam off _somewhere_.

For Rorschach, this would probably mean beating up a pimp in some alley and then simmering quietly. For Daniel, fists only go so far; he has to use words to let it out.

He ends up yelling at Rorschach, letting all his anger out on the worst possible person.

When he realizes what he's done, he tries to make amends, hurrying to form apologies and hold up his hands in a pacifying gesture which, if necessary, could also be used to block a left hook.

He's beyond surprised when his partner just "hurm"s, turns around, and keeps walking.

Later, when they get back to the Nest and Rorschach mutters something that sounds like "sorry", Daniel thinks maybe Rorschach did hit him, and he's really lying unconscious in a dark alleyway.

* * *

6. Your Honor

There are more than a few occasions when Daniel wakes up in the middle of the night, recovering from an injury, to find Rorschach stumbling into the kitchen with blood dripping down his coat and forming a trail behind him.

He always wonders who Rorschach has been fighting, who could possibly bust the formidable force that was Rorschach up so badly, but Rorschach never answers.

Rorschach comes stumbling in one night while Daniel is recovering from a bullet wound he'd gotten from their attempted takedown of Big Figure, and when he asks Rorschach the shorter man just shrugs.

"Thug," he grunts. "Filth." And that's as much of an answer as Daniel will ever get from his partner.

The sun is almost rising by the time Rorschach leaves through the tunnels, and Daniel knows he won't be able to get back to sleep anyway, so he stays up, settles his uneasy stomach with a cup of coffee.

The headlines in the newspaper that morning tell him what his partner hadn't: Big Figure is the latest scum of the underworld to be brought to jail.

* * *

7. Purpose

Daniel has never fit in. He's the geek, the nerd, the dork who sticks out like a sore thumb in school. When he graduates from college, at long last, he has no idea what to do.

He's on his own for the first time, with his father dead, and with a degree in Ornithology there aren't many jobs he can fill.

His father has left him a small fortune, and he has no idea what to do with that, either. It has paid for his college, and now it pays for his house and food and clothes.

But there's so much of it, so much money that he feels like he should use somehow, for some goal or purpose. The nagging feeling eats away at him, and at first he buys lots of gadgets and gizmos and tinkers with those, and slowly gadgets turn into a flying ship named Archie and weapons that feel right in his hands, somehow. He finally knows what to do.

As he grips the controls of his ship years later, steering it high above the streets of New York, with a psychotic partner whose real face he has never seen as his copilot and the scars of hundreds of battles mapped on his body, he has never felt more at home.


	2. Chapter 2

1. Flightless Bird, American Mouth

Walter doesn't like Nite Owl.

Nite Owl is soft and young and looks utterly ridiculous in his tights and goofy goggles. No one takes him seriously, not even the scum he's supposed to be fighting against, so Rorschach certainly doesn't. He's all too happy to let the gawky bird-man stumble along on his merry way, but somehow they keep running into each other, and then Nite Owl smiles at him, all guileless innocence and damn it all, he can't just let this kid go running off to let himself get killed.

When he saves Nite Owl from a band of Topknots, he stands and waits for Nite Owl to get up again. He doesn't leave, like he usually does when he saves the other man's skin, but he doesn't offer him a hand, either. Nite Owl staggers to his feet and shakes his head, grinning, and he's just so _young_.

"Thanks, man. That's like the eighth time this month." There's a sheepish tone to the vigilante's voice, and more than a hint of embarrassment.

"You shouldn't rush in when you're so outnumbered," he mutters, then wants to take it back because it's enabling, indulging, and he's not supposed to do that.

"You do," Nite Owl says, and Walter doesn't even pause to consider this a valid argument.

"I have more experience. I'm better." It's not a boast, just a statement of fact, and he's glad Nite Owl seems to accept this.

"Should find a partner," he adds, just in case Nite Owl didn't get the hint, and without waiting for another word he leaves, walking away with hunched shoulders and an unsettling feeling hovering around him.

No, Walter definitely doesn't like Nite Owl.

2. Video Killed the Radio Star

When the bulbs flash around them, Walter wants to bolt, but Nite Owl is beside him, beaming at the crowd of reporters. Walter feels obligated to stay beside his partner, so he does, despite the discomfort it brings.

Walter hates getting his picture taken. The media swarm to his and Nite Owl's victories like flies to a corpse. It's disgusting and he feels so exposed. Besides, the pictures are only for the public, for little children to see and idolize as heroes, because that's what they are when the newspapers write about them. Avenging angels. Comic books and cartoons come to life.

He knows this isn't really true. Walter knows he's only barely better than the criminals they fight, knows that the only difference between him and them is his resistance to the filth that permeates them, that they become. That his mother had been consumed by.

But Nite Owl is one of the idolizing children himself. He took on the mask because it had belonged to his own childhood idol, and wears it into battle now because he is still innocent, even after so many punches and gunshots and sutured wounds. Even after seeing the lows to which humanity could stoop.

Walter almost hates him for this, but can't bring himself to. Because Nite Owl is good, really and truly good.

When Daniel retires years later, he knows why. Daniel needs to believe in their cause, needs to believe that their cause is just and good, needs the support of the city and the trust of its children. And the Keene Act brings all the goodness of the cause crumbling down around his ears. The Keene Act means they aren't loved, aren't wanted, and Nite Owl can't fight for something that rejects him and the help he offers.

As he looks at all the newspaper clippings Daniel has saved over the years and stored in the Nest, at the pictures where Nite Owl smiles from beside a hunched Rorschach and the articles that tell of their latest heroic exploits, Rorschach can understand why Daniel won't fight.

But he can't forgive.

3. Supermodel

Daniel is in love.

Never before has he been so deeply infatuated, so truly enamored with anyone or anything ever before.

But when he flies over the city in Archimedes, wearing the mantle of his childhood idol, fighting for the justice of the city with his partner at his back, the feeling bubbles up within him.

He is in love with it, the very idea of being the savior of such a beautiful city, of being looked up to by children, of being adored and idolized for doing good.

Because that's exactly what he's doing. He can throw punches and break arms as long as he knows that it's the right thing to do.

He is a hero, and he is in love with being one.

4. Bye Bye Baby

Daniel isn't sure what he was expecting. Maybe he wasn't expecting anything.

That doesn't make it any easier to look up at his former partner's face after telling him that he's going to retire. To see the inkblots shift slower than he's ever seen them, barely moving at all. There's no grunt, no growl. Just silence, and sluggish inkblots, making him feel like shit.

Rorschach doesn't say anything, even as he turns and walks away, but the unspoken word is thunder in Dan's ears.

_Traitor_.

And just like that, all the trust and friendship collapses under the weight of his decision.

Mentally, he says goodbye to his former partner, and trudges upstairs. He turns off the lights, and Archie and his Nite Owl costume plunge into darkness.

5. Must've Done Something Right

Nite Owl has no idea what he's done to deserve this.

He'd posed the question jokingly, after being beaten to the ground by another group of Topknots, and never in a million years had he expected Rorschach to quirk him head to the left, make one of those funny little noises as if _he was actually thinking about it_, and then give him a curt nod.

"I'll be waiting here tomorrow night."

He stumbles back into the Owl Nest light-headed, as if everything was a dream, because really, what else could it possibly be? Rorschach, _Rorschach_, terror of the night, had just agreed to partner up with him on patrols.

_What the hell_.

He goes to bed and stares at the ceiling for hours, wondering how the fuck he's going to pull this off. He's still a greenhorn as far as crime fighting is concerned, and Rorschach is the exact opposite. Feared and respected, and with good reason. Most thugs would turn tail at the mere sight of his mask, and sometimes Dan feels the same way when he sees the other vigilante. Rorschach is shorter than he is, but packed with so much lethal force that Daniel can't help but be intimidated. And now he's supposed to be the guy's partner. Jesus. It seems like more of a hero-sidekick situation, really. He can't hope to measure up to the ruthless machine that is Rorschach.

Daniel only gets four hours of sleep, and finds himself munching on potato chips all afternoon while watching whatever's on TV. He can't remember what it was afterwards.

He's pretty sure the goddamn butterflies in his stomach are on crack.

Rorschach waits for Nite Owl in the same alley where they'd last spoken, and once Nite Owl arrives, they set off on the patrol.

They get into a fight almost immediately with some stupid kids, high out of their minds, who'd been trying to gang-bang a young woman in an alley.

Rorschach swoops in and takes out two of the kids before they have time to notice him. Nite Owl isn't far behind, but Rorschach doesn't so much as blink before sucker-punching another kid as he attempted to draw a gun.

Nite Owl yells something that sounds like _look out_ and Rorschach turns to see a knife flash toward him, only to be intercepted by a gloved fist. Brown Kevlar wrenches the knife from the punk's hand and its twin rockets into the kid's face, breaking his nose. The kid swears and drops to the ground, and Nite Owl whips back around to knock out another assailant. Rorschach makes quick work of the two who'd been attempting to get a hit on his person, and then the two vigilantes stand back-to-back, breathing hard and still tensed for a fight for a fight that's now over.

Rorschach remembers the knife and turns to give Nite Owl a nod. "Thanks."

Nite Owl seems shocked. "What?...Oh, yeah. Sure. No problem." He opens and closes his mouth before grinning, a wide, sunny thing that makes him seem like a little kid, as young as the punks they'd taken down.

As they make sure the kids are turned into the police, Rorschach wonders what he's done to deserve this.


	3. Chapter 3

1. The White Witch

Daniel doesn't like this. He doesn't like the way Karnak looms over them. Archie's down for the count, and all they have now is each other and the truth.

Rorschach is a psychopath and Daniel doesn't want to face the truth.

He doesn't want to admit that one man, one person whom he'd once called a comrade, is going to singlehandedly kill millions of people. It may be for world peace, but it comes with a heavy price.

They're here to stop him, but as Daniel trudges through the snow the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and an unsettling feeling slides down his spine. Something is going to go horribly, horribly wrong.

/

It's too late. There's nothing they can do now.

It's all over.

Laurie is there, and she wants him, and he needs to know that he's not alone.

He falls asleep at the end of the world.

/

He wakes up and the prickling warning is still there, still telling of something wrong, wrong, wrong.

He tries to dismiss it. The world as he knows it is over already. Veidt's plan is over. Nothing can be done now. Nothing will be done.

Hours later, when he and Laurie walk back to a newly-repaired Archie, courtesy of Dr. Manhattan, there is blood on the snow, and a hat. And a face.

A face he knows, _knows_ and he can't take this.

The prickling is gone now, erased by endless white.

* * *

2. Citywide Rodeo

Daniel sits in his study sometimes, just sits there and looks up at the walls covered in newspaper clippings and old photos and headlines of victory. Sometimes he thinks he's turning into Hollis, and maybe soon he'll have a protégé of his own.

Sometimes he wishes he could go back in time.

Sometimes he longs for his confidence, his masculine pride.

Mostly he wants his friend back.

* * *

3. Blah Blah Blah

Dan admires Laurie.

She is everything he wants to be, everything he misses. Bold and brave and not taking shit from anybody. Fearless, unafraid to speak her mind.

Strong.

Dan wants that strength. He wishes he could capture it, could have some of it back himself. Nite Owl helps, but he can't wear the goddamn suit all the time, and even when he does wear it there are times when he feels so, so pitiful.

Laurie is beautiful and brash and striking. She wears tight, revealing clothing and smokes and cusses her brains out when she's mad.

And, like a moth to a flame, he's drawn in.

* * *

4. If I Can't Love Her

Dr. Manhattan knows Laurie doesn't love him any more. He's seen it over and over, every second of every moment instantaneously.

He knows she's frustrated, knows that he no longer understands her, nor she him. She's lonely and needs comfort, so she turns to Dreiberg, and in him and his thick glasses, his awkward smile, and his unflattering sweater vests, she finds something that she hasn't had with him in a long time. And, as she talks with him and connects and shares, a bond forms, and a relationship starts between them like a chemical reaction. Dr. Manhattan knows this; it's easy to observe, plain and obvious.

He knows, but he still doesn't like the sight of her curled up against Dreiberg.

He sees it over and over, every second of every moment instantaneously.

And he tries to look away.

* * *

5. I Don't Like You Anymore

Rorschach bears the burden of his sign's warning with shoulder more stooped than usual the next morning. He's sore, battered and bruised and split open and torn apart by this. He will never forgive, never forget, and even just the memory of what Daniel had said weighs him down.

The people who meet his eyes on the street look away, and he knows that if Daniel saw his mask he'd do the same. It makes him clench his teeth and tighten his jaw, and the next person to accidentally meet his eyes is treated to a full-on glare.

Partners are supposed to be reliable, to be the one person you can count on when the rest of the world is against you.

And Daniel, his partner, his strong, soft Nite Owl, has quit on him.

The betrayal cuts deeper than any of his scars, and will never heal.


	4. Chapter 4

Again with the five song-inspired drabbles. Some of them are so long they're bordering on oneshots, actually. Hope you like!

**

* * *

**

**Colorblind**

Walter Kovacs doesn't like colors.

Red is the color of blood, of bad things spilled on the ground, pooling in crevices. Orange is the color of a whore's hair, tangled and reeking of cheap perfume and hairspray. Yellow is the color of Spectres, of girls too young in too tight clothing doing dangerous things in dark alleyways. Green is the color of the boy's eyes as he pokes and prods, spitting out chewed-up apple and obscene comments. Blue are his own eyes, staring out at him from the mirror. Purple used to be good, but now it's gay rights and Ozymandias's flamboyant clothes. Black is the night, black is dark streets and grime that cover for rapists and crackheads. Grey is hair, old hair, accompanying slower reflexes and a body less willing to do its job. White is the doctors, the snow, the false security and lies.

Brown is different. Brown is safe, warm. Strong. Brown is stable, brown is secure. Brown is innocent and humble and unassuming. Brown is forgiving and trusting and honest. Brown fights alongside Rorschach, smiles at him for a job well done.

Brown is a friend.

* * *

**Just My Imagination**

Daniel doesn't pretend that he's friends with Rorschach.

They're partners, that's all. He barely even knows the guy outside of "work", and Rorschach had never been the talkative sort, even before all this…weirdness. But now he's all closed doors and kept secrets. He grunts more than he uses actual words, delivers fatal blows regularly. And Daniel doesn't pretend to be friends with this person. He knows that whatever their relationship is, it's not friendship.

He tries to maintain this as Rorschach carries him back to the Nest after a serious blow to his shoulder. Daniel is losing blood fast—he can barely think straight, let alone stay upright, but Rorschach manages, and before he knows it he's seated on his workbench as Rorschach rummages around, presumably trying to find bandages or a suture. It must be pretty damn deep cut, Daniel thinks absently. He's starting to feel dizzy.

Rorschach is mumbling something as he moves closer, needle and thread in hand. His hands are strong looking, Daniel notes. Pale and freckled and strong.

"Should have been more careful," Rorschach says, and Daniel isn't sure whether he's berating Daniel or himself. "Lazy. Sloppy." Daniel decides remaining silent was the best option.

The world tilts for a moment before those strong hands dig into his bare arms. The skin-to-skin contact is the most he's ever gotten from Rorschach.

"Stay," Rorschach says, and Daniel thinks he hears an edge to the masked man's voice.

There's no pain when the stitches are put in. But he watches them close up the wound as Rorschach's fingers deftly maneuver the needle. Daniel wonders how many times he's done this before, to be so good at sewing.

"Was a tailor," Rorschach grunts, and this, too, is more than Daniel's ever gotten before.

"Was?" Daniel's pretty sure the words come out, but Rorschach isn't saying anything and the world is waving at him like relatives at an airport.

"Yes, Daniel. Quit. Horrible job."

Daniel blinks. _It must've been, for Rorschach to complain about it_, is the first thing that swims to mind. And then he thinks he must be dreaming, because Rorschach doesn't complain. Ever.

The world starts fogging up, and Daniel's eyelids grow heavier. Surely Rorschach won't mind if he closed them, just for a little while…

"NO!"

Apparently Rorschach does mind.

"NO, Daniel. No sleeping. Don't close your eyes. Need you to stay." Fingers dig into his biceps, just below the stitches and bandages. The pain's dull, an afterthought to the reality of Rorschach clinging to him, to his bare skin.

"Stop, Daniel. Stop. Need you here. Don't leave me." Rorschach shakes him. Daniel frowns, but his eyelids are so, so heavy.

"Stay," he hears Rorschach say again.

When he wakes up the next morning, he was alone on the couch in his living room. There's a blanket draped across him, but nothing otherwise to indicate what happened last night actually happened. His shoulder aches dimly, and when he moves it hurts like hell. Well, that at least is some reassurance.

He pads into the kitchen, and peers into the waste bin to find an empty can of beans staring back up at him.

_Stay_, Rorschach had said.

Daniel smiles. He can do that.

* * *

**Dirty Ice Cream**

As he goes out to pick up the morning paper and get groceries, Daniel can't help but feel that he's being watched.

But it's New York. Someone's always watching. And yet no one ever is—that's how the city works. Daniel shakes his head and tells himself it's the nerves from being a new vigilante. Of partnering with one of the strangest and most dangerous people he's met—and that includes a man with glowing blue skin and godlike powers.

The feeling evaporates as he enters the grocery store, but starts back up again with a vengeance when he leaves. Eventually he turns the corner into a dark alleyway and ducks into a recessed doorway, hoping that whoever the hell it is will try to follow him in, leaving his stalker open for an ambush.

The feeling stops, though, and he takes a deep breath and waits for a good five minutes and then leaves the way he came, looking to either side of the sidewalk and across the street in search of whoever could possibly be tailing him. He's convinced by now that _someone_ is, maybe a new villain or even an old one looking for revenge, even though he's only put away a few so far, and no bigshots. The only loiterer he sees is that hobo with the doomsday sign. Dan turns away and shakes his head to clear it. The end is indeed nigh if his nerves are on the fritz this badly. They'll get him killed on patrol if he can't shake this itchy feeling.

He takes a detour and disappears into the sewers, and the feeling stops as soon as he's underground. He feels ridiculous walking through the dark stench in his slacks and sweatervest. Nite Owl might have the confidence to walk alone through the night, but Daniel's still working on basic self-esteem.

But the Nest is a comforting sight, and he gives Archie a fond pat before retreating to his aboveground home for something with less caffeine than a cup of coffee.

He still feels a little jittery on patrol, but Nite Owl helps with the creeping feeling. Rorschach notices anyway.

"You're tense. Why." It's not a question so much as a demand for an explanation.

Dan decides _fuck it_ and tells Rorschach about his imagined stalker.

His partner doesn't say anything for a while. Then, "It's probably nothing."

Dan nods, relieved. If his paranoid partner isn't worried, he shouldn't be either.

"But," Rorschach adds later, before they part ways for the night, "I'll keep an eye out."

The next day, the swirls in his coffee look like a face he knows, and he feels a little better.

* * *

**Poker Face**

Daniel never knows what Rorschach's thinking.

Not only does the mask throw him for a loop, but Rorschach is generally impassive by nature. Not once has Daniel seen the fabric of the mask stretch and contort to accommodate a smile, never seen it shift for a sneer. Whatever Rorschach's expression is like beneath that mask, it stays that way.

It's frustrating. Dan's the opposite of Rorschach, talking at length about anything from their latest bust to the clouds in the sky to the brand of coffee he likes to the way owls digest their prey. And Rorschach will just be there, sitting in the copilot's seat or hovering near him, not saying a word. Their relationship seems unfairly one-sided to Dan. He wasn't exactly expecting a keepsake locket when they decided to officially team up, but just getting a grunt when asked what newspaper he likes seems unnecessarily cold.

He starts inviting Rorschach over for coffee after shifts in a bid to further their partnership, and hopefully their friendship. Rorschach always refuses, of course, and although Daniel isn't surprised he can't help but be a little put out.

Then, one night, Nite Owl looks away for a second and when he looks back, Rorschach is down on one knee, clutching his side with one hand and steadying himself with the other as the thug raises his blade for the final cut. Nite Owl is there in an instant, gripping the hand holding the blade and kneeing him in the crotch, followed by an elbow to the face. The thug goes down, and they're out of the fire and into the frying pan as Dan frantically puts Archie on autopilot and checks Rorschach's wound.

"It's deep," he says, feeling his stomach drop. "We're getting you to a hospital."

"No," Rorschach rasps vehemently. "_No hospitals_."

"It's going to need some serious stitches and disinfectant, and you might need a blood transfusion, too," Dan says, fingers fluttering helplessly around the wound.

"No hospitals," Rorschach snaps, vicious even when laid out across the floor and bleeding profusely from his side.

There's no time. "Okay," Dan says, scrubbing his face with his hands as he steps away to pilot Archie back to the Nest.

_There's no time_.

Rorschach is deathly silent as Dan wrenches Archie to a stop. He doesn't make so much as a grunt as Daniel lifts the smaller vigilante off of the floor to carry him out of the ship. Doesn't shy away as Daniel sets him down on a workbench and comes back with a first-aid kit and a suture.

He finally gives a reaction when Dan reaches down to undo his trench, snarling and clutching Dan's wrists with an immobilizing grip.

"I can't stitch it up without the coat off," Dan says, willing his voice not to tremble. He's all nerves, drenched in adrenaline and rapidly fraying at the edges. "I need a clear shot."

Rorschach grunts and lets his arms fall limply to his sides. Dan releases a breath he hadn't known he was holding and fumbles with the belt, nearly tearing it away in his haste. He lifts the shirt up—he has a moment to note that Rorschach is wearing suspenders, _suspenders_—and is greeted with a pale, freckled hip, violated by a deep red gash that is steadily leaking blood.

Daniel offers him anesthesia, and he shakes his head. It's a slow, loose movement that is so unlike the Rorschach Dan knows. His stomach plummets.

When the needle goes in, Rorschach gives a little huff of breath and tenses, but otherwise shows no sign of pain or even recognition of the stitches closing up his wound. Daniel's fingers are shaking and he prays that Rorschach hasn't lost too much blood.

In the end there's nothing he can do but bandage Rorschach's side and hope he doesn't go out on the streets before the wound has healed. Dan's pretty sure Rorschach won't abide by the doctor's orders, but if the stitches are pulled the cumulative blood loss might prove too much, even for Rorschach.

He leaves Rorschach in the Nest, lying on a makeshift cot, and goes upstairs to his own bed and sleeps. He's surprised at how quickly he fades away.

In the morning, he wakes up slowly, languorously blinking away the sand only to remember who he left downstairs.

He skids into the kitchen, the untied belt of his robe flapping to the side. He can scarcely breathe.

And there's Rorschach, sitting calmly at the table, fully clothed and looking eerily out of place among the soft colors of Dan's kitchen.

"Good morning, Nite Owl," he says, in a voice so familiar Dan nearly loses it.

"Good, ah, good morning," Dan says back, and he takes one stilting step into the kitchen. Think of something,_ think of something_. "Would you, uh, like some coffee?" When Rorschach doesn't answer, only stares at him with that immovable expression beneath the mask, he plows on. "Or tea? I have milk, too, or just water if you want—"

"Did not come to take advantage of your hospitality," Rorschach says, and Dan is relieved at the even tone of voice. "Just wanted to thank you. Your help was appreciated. Will try to be more careful in the future."

"Uh, no problem," Dan says, breathless. Rorschach is sitting at his kitchen table in broad daylight. Thanking him. And he was standing there in his boxers and an undone robe. "But I'm still making coffee for myself anyway. Sure you don't want some?"

Rorschach makes what Dan guesses is a contemplative noise. "Would not be averse to drinking coffee."

Dan shuffled over to the coffee maker, trying not to reveal just how shell-shocked he is—even though, knowing Rorschach, it's obvious already—and as it goes to work he sidles over to the stove to make eggs in a basket.

"No need for decadence, Nite Owl," Rorschach says behind him.

Dan shrugs. "I'd be making it for myself anyway. You ought to have some, you're a guest. …And my name is Dan. Er, Daniel. Dreiberg." He glances over his shoulder to see how Rorschach receives the information. His right hand is clenched into an almost-fist where it lays on the table, but his head inclines slightly. Dan turns hastily back to his cooking.

Later, as he slides a dish across to Rorschach, he reads hesitation. The smaller vigilante shifts slightly, then reaches up and pushes his mask up over his nose in one jerking motion.

Dan's jaw drops before he can stop it. Beneath the mask, Rorschach's jaw is pale and covered with freckles—like his hip, _oh God_—and his days-old stubble is orange.

_A ginger_, Dan thinks faintly, openly staring. Rorschach, the terror of the night, is a _ginger_.

The coffee maker gives a loud _ping_ that startles Dan out of his mental feedback loop. He pours two mugs full of the black liquid and tries not to think about the grim line of Rorschach's mouth, a poker face finally revealed, and still just as inscrutable. He wonders dimly if he's dreaming, then perishes the thought as he pours hot coffee on his hand in distraction. He hisses and desperately runs his finger under the faucet.

He feels heat rush to his face as he realizes he's just wimped out over a silly coffee burn when the man sitting mere feet away has just suffered through stitches and massive blood loss and is sitting there as if nothing is wrong, slowly eating breakfast.

"You want milk or sugar?" Dan asks, desperately trying to get over his embarrassment.

"Sugar. Please." Daniel pulls a smile and sets a bowl of sugar cubs onto the table. He leans back against the counter as he mixes the milk into his own coffee, then looks on in amazement as Rorschach adds no less than five cubes to his coffee. He watches raptly as Rorschach brings the mug to his lips, sips, then sets it down and adds yet another cube.

A ginger with a sweet tooth. And _freckles_. Dan had never, never suspected anything close to this. It depresses him a little that _this_, a simple cup of coffee and breakfast, has revealed more than he'd ever known about his fellow vigilante. His _partner_. And it was only possible because of a fucking wound and Rorschach's aversion to hospitals.

"Jesus," Dan mutters, surprised when the word spills out.

Rorschach raises his head from the coffee mug. "Aren't you Jewish?"

Dan does an impromptu rendition of a spit-take. "What! Why? _How do you know that_?"

Rorschach gives a tight shrug, pulling in on himself a little. Daniel realizes with a start that he's embarrassed.

"Uh, never mind." He swirled the coffee around in his mug. "So, uh. That cut's going to take a few weeks to heal enough for you to patrol. And if the stitches get pulled, you have to tell me right away so I can fix it before it gets infected."

Rorschach makes one of the sounds Daniel is becoming increasingly familiar with. "The filth on the streets won't rest while I do."

Daniel gives him his best Nite Owl face. "Rorschach. You need to rest. If you go out like this you'll only get into more trouble, and then the city will be missing one of its masks."

Rorschach stands, tugging the mask back down over his thin lips and stubbled jaw. "Will take into consideration," he says, and heads to the Nest. He hesitates in the doorway. "Thank you for the meal, Daniel. Was good."

Daniel can't help but ruin his own poker face as his partner disappears into the sewers.

* * *

**Less Ordinary**

Dan can't imagine life without Rorschach.

Rorschach is an inevitability, a solid tethering point for every uncertainty of the future. It's impossible to think of patrolling without the shorter man, of living in a house that doesn't have mysteriously vanishing stores of baked beans and sugar cubes. He tries and fails to imagine going on patrol and not staring at the back of a trench coat while crouched on a fire escape.

It's strange, having his life hinge so completely on one person. There was a time he thought that person would be Laurie, and before that he was so, so sure it was his father. He certainly knows more about either of them than he does about Rorschach. He doesn't even know Rorschach's _name_.

Somehow, he finds he doesn't mind. Once or twice he thinks he ought to be at least a little irritated by the fact that the person he's closest to is the person he knows the least about. He doesn't know Rorschach's eyes, or hair, or height. Doesn't know if he's black or white or brown or something in between. Doesn't know if he's Bruce Wayne or Clark Kent or, hell, even a homeless man. Doesn't even know his favorite color. It's ridiculous. Even more ridiculous is that he _wants_ to know. He _wants_ to know who Rorschach is under the mask. He wants to peel off his partner's disguise and see who he really is. He wants to understand the enigma that is Rorschach.

It's two years into their partnership when Rorschach finally accepts his offer of coffee. Daniel's train of thought derails as Rorschach reaches up and pushes his mask onto his nose, exposing a grim mouth and a wide jaw flecked with orange stubble. Rorschach is a ginger. Daniel has to hide his smile behind his coffee mug.

Rorschach grunts and adds half a dozen sugar cubes to his coffee, valiantly acting as though they were his own, and not the ones he'd pilfered from Daniel's stash.

Daniel thinks maybe he can live with this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Heart's A Mess**

Walter rams a fist into the bedding.

It does him no good; the bedding's too soft and absorbs the impact, but not his frustration.

Or panic.

He has no idea what to do. Nite Owl, this new vigilante, this _kid_—he's getting under his skin. It's taken Walter weeks to realize it, and now that he has, his new partner has already sunken in deep, through the pores and into the nerve endings. Too deep to be painlessly extracted.

Walter doesn't know what to do. He knows what he _should_ do—_dump__him,__tell__him__to__find__another__partner,__make__him__learn__the__hard__way_—but he can't bring himself to go through with it. Nite Owl is still just a fledgling. Cosseted by wealth and an easy youth. Without Rorschach, the wolves on the streets would eat him alive. Nite Owl is too naïve and green-horned for his own good.

Rorschach has to listen night in and night out to Nite Owl's prattling and liberal raving. He seems to voice his opinion on any issue that comes up, from the economy to gay rights to the environment. After several hours of listening to what spews from the man's mouth, Rorschach is ready to unleash his fury on the nearest available victim. In this case, his bedding. It'd been an entirely uneventful patrol, which meant more prattling _and_ nothing to take his frustrations out on.

He doesn't know how much more of this he can take.

And at the same time, he knows he'll keep taking it, because Nite Owl is a good man, for a fledgling with weak, liberal morals. He's not much of a partner now—more like a sidekick, really—but he's getting better all the time and soon Walter thinks he'll measure up to a great man. A great partner.

For now, though, Walter's bedding is going to have to take a bit more abuse.

* * *

**Call It A Day**

Nite Owl is exhausted.

It'd by far been their longest, most tiring patrol yet. A record number of muggings, one of which led them to a more high-profile case, which turned into a chase all over the city. Archie had had to be left behind; they'd done the entire thing on foot. And now Dan hurts _everywhere_. He's beyond ready for a hot shower and warm bed, but first he has to man Archie back to the Nest. He slumps into the cockpit and makes a mental note to add in an autopilot.

Rorschach stands impassively behind him, close enough to invade Dan's space with his smell if not his actual body. Dan can't bring himself to care.

"I'm callin' it," he mutters, and Rorschach gives an unintelligible grunt.

* * *

**Junebug**

What they have is far from perfect.

Daniel knows this. He knows and accepts that they'll always have arguments that end in his tense apologies and passive-aggressive grunts from his partner, that they'll never have a decent conversation about anything other than "work", and that he'll never see the other man's face or know his real name. They're never going to go out to a bar and get drunk watching sports, they're never going to share a love of anything outside of instant coffee and being goddamn superheroes—not that Rorschach will ever admit to being a superhero, of course. He refuses to believe in superheroes on principle. It's just one more thing they disagree on.

What matters is their relationship _works_. Sure, it's only good for backup in dark alleyways, but when that's what you spend your nights doing, and one well-aimed knife or gunshot could land you six feet under, having the right person at your back means more than just about anything else. And Rorschach is always, _always_, the right person to have at your back. At Dan's back. Er, Nite Owl's—whatever. The point was, Dan took pride in their partnership and wouldn't do anything to jeopardize it.

Even if Rorschach _was_ a bigoted, racist, homophobic, passive-aggressive, sugar cube-stealing jerk.

* * *

**Dancing with Myself**

Rorschach's first solo patrol after Nite Owl's retirement does not go well.

It's embarrassing to admit, but no matter how much of a lone wolf front he puts on, he's grown very much used to Nite Owl's presence. Without the familiarly ridiculous owl costume at his back during confrontations, without Archie to provide easy transport, without the police radio scanner and the ready supply of sugar cubes…

It was the longest, most tiring patrol of his life, physical priming or no. The fact was, without Nite Owl he was sloppy. Unused to going about the business of vigilantism solo.

His fighting skills and coordination and reflexes get better fast, but from time to time he still finds himself hearing a vast expanse of silence where there should have been meaningless chatter about the evolutionary adaptations of owls to different climates.

* * *

**Makeover!**

Laurie insists on changing their appearances, and Dan reluctantly acquiesces.

At her insistence, he switches to itchy contacts and polos and pastel colors that are truly unflattering, never mind the outrageously blonde shade of his hair. Laurie has definitely changed him, that's for sure.

Five years after…after everything, he wakes up in the morning and wonders who the hell he is. The face in the mirror is lined heavily with age, with a receding hairline and hideously blonde hair that is even more obviously unnatural now than it was before. He sees the beginnings of another potbelly, and this time he knows he won't be able to keep up exercising enough to lose it. He's old. So old.

He stops dyeing his hair later that week, and it bleeds out to a gray color peppered with a few remaining strands of brown. He starts wearing his old glasses again, but his vision's gotten worse so the lenses need to be replaced first. He falls back into nerdy sweatervests and owl-themed clothes, because he's old. And when you're old, things like being arrested by the leader of the not-so-new-anymore regime don't worry you. Little worries Dan now.

So he goes back to old habits, and ignores the pinched look on Laurie's face as the pastel-colored husband she'd manufactured melts away.


End file.
